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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228447">Helping Hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc'>squidmemesinc</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (IDW Generation One)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Other, Post Dark Cybertron, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, but make it gay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:00:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is it too self-serving if I say you’re looking for an interface partner, and there only happens to be one other mech in the room?” </p><p>Rodimus snorts. “Not if you’re right.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nightbeat/Rodimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Helping Hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I probably wrote this like 3 years ago while I was on one of my self-imposed missions to create random tags for ships no one has ever thought about. </p><p>I haven't read/watched anything TF in ages but that's actually why I'm posting this because I remember hating it for so, so long after I wrote it and being too intimidated to edit it properly. </p><p>But now I don't remember enough canon to even try, so, here you go :'')</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Heard you’ve decided to join up.”</p><p>Rodimus is leaning against the doorframe of Nightbeat’s newly assigned habsuite, arms crossed over his chestplate, self-assured smile fixed in place, and from what Nightbeat can tell, here with a mission.</p><p>Nightbeat gives a cautious smile. “And you are… The welcoming committee?”</p><p>Rodimus invites himself in, not that Nightbeat was planning on asking him to leave, and pauses in the middle of the room, looking around. “Something like that.” He walks over to Nightbeat’s berth and sits down on it, scooting back and leaning against the wall so there’s an ample amount of space beside him. And indeed, it does kind of feel like an invitation. Nightbeat wonders if he should feel strange about being invited to sit down in his own habsuite, but then again, it’s Rodimus’ ship, and he’s only just gotten here. He figures the captain of the <em>Lost Light</em> probably has more claim to this room right now than he does.</p><p>Maybe this is an attempt to pass that claim off to Nightbeat through some kind of captain-crew bonding ritual, the social implications of which obviously escape Nightbeat. Or, maybe Rodimus’ mission has something to do with picking up where they’d left off ages ago. He bites back on his desire to ask and instead lets himself sidle up next to Rodimus on the berth. They sit in a moment of agonizing silence and stare out into the blank expanse of the room that he has yet to fill with the assorted mementos he’s collected of solved (and unsolved) mysteries.</p><p>“So,” Rodimus continues, tapping his tires together so they make a soft muted sound where they’re hanging off the berth, “what swayed you into lending yourself to my noble quest?” Somehow he manages to say ‘noble quest’ without giving the impression he’s being facetious.</p><p>Nightbeat scoffs. “Ha! Don’t play dumb, Rodimus.” He dares to playfully nudge him with his elbow, unsure why he feels a little scandalized by the contact afterwards. That kind of gesture used to be so easy for them, but there’s been so much time between then and now. He’d have thought it wouldn’t be so weird, but he can tell something is bothering Rodimus too. He just hasn’t puzzled out what yet, and naturally that’s infuriating. “Come on, you didn’t come down here to ask me that.”</p><p>Rodimus grins at him. “So I need a reason to come visit my dear old friend?”</p><p>Nightbeat studies him and finds him being sincere again. There’s an obvious indication of care hidden in the minutia of his expression. Rodimus probably knows he easily couldn’t lie to him, and Nightbeat doesn’t think he’d want to anyway. He feels his spark thrum happily at the realization that Rodimus still thinks of him as a friend even after all this time apart.</p><p>“Guess not,” Nightbeat admits. “But you had one.”</p><p>“And you don’t have any guesses, Mr. Detective?”</p><p>Nightbeat taps a finger against his chin and studies his friend, even though he’s already got a solid enough idea. “You don’t seem as chipper as usual, even if it’s in that kind of fake-it-till-you-make-it way, and you keep rubbing at the numbers on your palm. Seems pretty obvious you’re looking for a distraction. Is it too self-serving if I say you’re looking for an interface partner, and there only happens to be one other mech in the room?”</p><p>Rodimus snorts. “Not if you’re right.” But he clamps his hand over his palm anyway. The paint is scuffed over the gouged metal where he’s worried it.</p><p>Nightbeat wordlessly reaches for his hands and pulls them apart, taking the damaged one gently in his palm and carefully examining examines scratches with his own fingertips.</p><p>“I was going to have First Aid fix it,” Rodimus says with an uncharacteristically sheepish hint in his voice.</p><p>Nightbeat glances up at him before turning his attention back to the scratches, tracing out the eight, the nine, one-oh-one. He’s got a personal fondness for this little detail, since it saved him from being Nova Prime’s sleeper agent up to the point Pax probably would have ripped his head off. “What about your reminder?” Nightbeat asks. “Or your motivation, or whatever?”</p><p>Rodimus shrugs, following Nightbeat’s fingers with his own optics. His fingers twitch when he lightly strokes the line dividing the two pieces of the fraction. “Kind of feels like I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Or showing off, maybe. I’ve rethought it, in any case.”</p><p>“Or someone’s given you guff for it,” Nightbeat counters, confirming his suspicions when Rodimus frowns. “I’d be sorry to see them go, but of course that’s for very personal reasons.” He raises Rodimus’ hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to the palm. They tingle when he draws back, having been inundated with a rush of charge from Rodimus’ field. He dares to go a step further, leaning into the mood they’ve begun to set by tugging on Rodimus’ arm until he lifts himself onto his knees and settles halfway in Nightbeat’s lap, straddling one of his thighs.</p><p>Rodimus leans into him now so Nightbeat can feel that overwhelming warmth that distinguishes Rodimus from any other mech he’s been with radiating out through his field and seeming to penetrate right into Nightbeat’s spark. He wraps his undamaged hand around the back of Nightbeat’s neck, guiding him up so they’re inches away from a kiss. His other hand is roaming across Nightbeat’s chest and abdomen, and he could swear he can feel the tiny, almost imperceptible marks of those gouged out numbers burning into his metal like a brand. “I guess we could give them a proper send-off, then.”</p><p>Rodimus kisses him and Nightbeat lets him, wrapping an arm around his waist and not sparing a thought to wonder if he shouldn’t be making out with his new captain on his first day on his ship. Their mouths are no strangers to each other, but there’s been a long enough absence that exploring and rediscovering the more sensitive bits of mesh is exciting and draws soft, pleased noises from them both.</p><p>They kiss slow and hungry. Nightbeat’s hands roam along Rodimus’ sides, tickling the bottom of his spoiler so he squirms in his lap. His knee is dangerously close to Nightbeat’s array, and of course Nightbeat can feel the heat of Rodimus’ own panels hovering just above his thigh. He groans and squeezes Rodimus to him, moving his hands across every inch of paneling he can reach and squeezing. Their fans kick off around the same time, and Rodimus chuckles against his lips, revving his engine so that Nightbeat can’t help but to grin against his mouth and return the sentiment.</p><p>They break apart and the air between them is cool in comparison. He thinks he sees Rodimus let out a steamy vent before it dissipates back into the air, but he wouldn’t doubt it. Rodimus runs hot even at his calmest.</p><p>“Are we going to get in trouble for doing this?” Nightbeat wonders, fingers playing at the seams of Rodimus’ hips and teasing too far from his panels.</p><p>There’s a sharp twinge of irritation in Rodimus’ expression, but he throws his head back haughtily and declares, “It’s my ship. I can do whatever I want. Or whoever.” He grins, and while this time it’s much more genuine, it’s also a little manic. Nightbeat would find that interesting if he weren’t distracted by Rodimus’ marked palm sliding down his plating until it reaches his spike housing. Rather than outright squeezing, he just presses his own modifications, the little scratches, directly over the panel.</p><p>Nightbeat bites his lip, feeling his spike throbbing just below Rodimus’ hand. He’s so warm he imagines if he were to grip it just right, it wouldn’t feel too far off from a valve, his fingers giving a rolling squeeze that would feel like calipers gripping, urging him in. He gasps as his spike pressurizes automatically as his thoughts escalate, sliding right into Rodimus’ waiting grasp without waiting for him to approve the command. Rodimus instantly gives him a squeeze not unlike the one he’d been imagining, and Nightbeat has to wonder how he guessed what he was thinking. He thought he was supposed to be the deductive one.</p><p>“I forgot how strong your hands are,” Nightbeat groans. He’s still squeezing Rodimus’ sides as he starts fervently pumping his hand. “Hey, you’re not planning on letting me have all the fun, right?” He takes advantage of his grip on Rodimus and tugs him down so his knees bend and his sealed panel presses against Nightbeat’s thigh.</p><p>Rodimus still has his free hand on Nightbeat’s neck. He grins at Nightbeat’s suggestion and leans in for a quick, fierce kiss, still working his spike at a steady rhythm. “Just giving you a head start,” he quips, letting his panel slide back. Nightbeat instantly feels hot lubricant smearing across his thigh as Rodimus grinds his swollen valve down against it. Rodimus moans and rolls himself forward into Nightbeat, giving his spike another sharp squeeze that Nightbeat can only imagine imitates another part of him.</p><p>“Frag, this is hot,” Nightbeat mutters. Rodimus gives a loose, aroused smile and a breathy laugh. “You’re hot. Literally.” He skates his fingers up over the biolights that curve around to Rodimus’ back. He can’t decide if he wants to reach for his spoiler, which he knows from experience is sensitive, or move downwards and get a good grip on his hips, guiding his rocking motions against his thigh to encourage more wet, hot friction. It’s really hard to make decisions when Rodimus is fervently milking his spike, traces of transfluid now between their plating and all over Rodimus’ hand.</p><p>“Is it too much?” Rodimus asks, arcing an optic ridge. Little moans slip in between his words, fall out in the space between vents. Nightbeat hasn’t even been paying attention to his own vocalizer, but he’s probably doing something similar.</p><p>“What am I, some kind of coward? Don’t answer that.” He finally chooses to move upward, pinching each side between his fingers and drawing as steady and solid a line outward as he can. Rodimus drops his free hand to his chest and shoves him against the wall, field spitting static and valve leaking fresh lubricant. He’s pressed so hard against him Nightbeat can feel the hungry twitch of his outermost calipers, the thought of which makes his own spike give an eager jump.</p><p>Rodimus’ hand had stopped briefly, but he bites his lip and tries to refocus his efforts. It’s clear he’s enjoying himself and losing his focus a little, but Nightbeat doesn’t really mind. “Keep doing that,” he breathes, giving him a few hard, encouraging strokes.</p><p>Nightbeat is used to following what can often be many different threads of a mystery, but having a beautiful, squirming speedster in his lap is turning out to be a lot to process. He’s barely aware of the heat building in his own array from Rodimus’ diligent movements, the twists and flicks of his wrist that manage to get firm, heavy contact all along his length.</p><p>But the physical component is almost the least important part, or at least, the contact on his spike. His spark thrums an unsteady beat in his chest where Rodimus’ hand is pressing into it. It feels like it could melt straight through him, or merge into him. Rodimus’ warmth is so distracting and impossible to replicate through mere fantasy. It’s been ages since they last engaged like this, but he’s forgotten until now that Rodimus’ valve feels enticingly molten pressing against his leg, not dangerous but truly inviting.</p><p>Nightbeat obediently traces out the lines and grooves of Rodimus’ spoiler, reaching as far to the tips as he can in this position with Rodimus pinning him, not that he’s complaining. His captain—his friend—sings out beautiful soft whines and whimpers, unafraid to let himself be loud and expressive. Nightbeat wonders how he makes it look so good. “Rodimus,” he says, and he’s surprised to find it sounds a lot like a whimper. “You’re—nn, <em>amazing.”</em></p><p>Rodimus gasps, moving his hand back to Nightbeat’s neck to tug him forward again. They crash together in another kiss and a tangle of limbs, Nightbeat eagerly wrapping his arms around Rodimus’ sides to press his palms into the spoiler, feeling Rodimus’ abdomen and chest come up flush against his own as his hand struggles to work in the limited space. In this confined space, Nightbeat is bathed in even more of his intense heat and friction, feeling the sparks jump from Rodimus’ plating to his own and back again. He groans into Rodimus’ mouth as he overloads, squirming his hips up into Rodimus’ hand desperately.</p><p>They slump on top of each other when it’s stopped, still pressed together, and now he just hugs Rodimus to him, wanting to keep in that comforting contact. He gives Rodimus a squeeze and is pleased to find it returned. He’s aware that Rodimus’ valve is still giving a dull, persistent throb against his leg, and he certainly has plans to attend to that, but this is one of the very few instances he enjoys a quiet moment.</p><p>Rodimus’ comm chimes and they both groan. He pulls it out with his not sticky hand and answers.</p><p>“Rodimus, it’s Ultra Magnus.”</p><p>“Yeah Mags, I still have caller ID.” Rodimus is tilting his head politely to the side so he’s not speaking directly into Nightbeat’s face. Nightbeat takes the opportunity to explore the thick cords in his neck with his mouth, rubbing his thumb along the base of Rodimus’ spinal strut.</p><p>Magnus ignores the slight. “Where are you? I thought we were due to have a meeting. You’re three minutes late.”</p><p>“I’m not late, you’re early. And I was just giving the new crew a hand unloading.” He squeezes Nightbeat’s hip joint pointedly and Nightbeat has to stifle a laugh against Rodimus’ neck.</p><p>“I suppose that’s generous of you, even if it is far outside the scope of your duties, but we have other matters to attend to. I’m sure the crew can handle it on their own.”</p><p>“Yeah, but then who’s going to handle me?” Rodimus mutters sourly, more to Nightbeat than to Magnus. Nightbeat doesn’t manage to hold in his laugh this time.</p><p>“Pardon me?” Magnus says on the other side of the line, clearly missing all of the context.</p><p>“Well, if you insist, then sure!” Rodimus says cheerily. “Whatever you’ve done, I, Rodimus, Captain of the Lost Light, forgive you. If that was all, I’ll be going.”</p><p>“Wait, Rodimus, but our meeting—” Magnus is cut off by Rodimus abruptly ending the call and tossing the comm to the edge of the bed.</p><p>He returns his attention to Nightbeat, who grins and shifts his thigh experimentally. Rodimus’ vents hitch momentarily, but he grinds back long and slow and says, “I believe you mentioned something about not letting you have all the fun?”</p>
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